"This is Charles Stark," it said. I remembered being told by Les that a Colonel Stark was his current boss. The voice went on: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
"Yes, sir," I said, making a face at Vadya, who was watching me from the car. Obviously, I'd run into a man who went by the book, silly passwords and all. The Anglo-American identification routine thought up by some brilliant bureaucrat required me to answer the passage from the Declaration of Independence with one from the Magna Carta, and I gave the Colonel a good one: "No taxes, except the customary ones, shall be levied except with the consent of a council of prelates and greater barons."
"Very good, Mr. Helm. Do I understand that you were asking for Crowe-Barham?"
"That's correct, sir." It never hurts to sir them when they have pompous voices and military titles. "Why, is something wrong, sir?"
"We hope not, Mr. Helm," said Colonel Stark heavily. "However, Crowe-Barham did not report in earlier this evening as his schedule required. He has not yet been heard from. When last seen, he was leaving Claridge's in your company and that of a certain lady, if I may misuse the word slightly…"
After I'd finished with the Colonel, I made a quick call to our local relay man, asking him to pass the latest developments on to Washington, along with a couple of questions to which I needed answers. When I got back into the roadster, Vadya was powdering her nose again, keeping an eye on the sedan up the block. She glanced at me rather suspiciously, but asked no questions. That's one thing to be said for dealing with a professional, even one whose motives are undependable and whose politics are deplorable: at least you avoid the yak-yak you'd get from an inquisitive amateur. Vadya started to close the purse as I sent us away.
"Keep it open," I said. "I'm going to try to lose them. Keep me posted."
"Yes, of course." She raised the mirror again. "They just turned on their lights. They are following, about a block behind."
"What did you do with Crowe-Barham?" I asked.
She did not take her eyes from the little mirror. "But really, darling! What dreadful crime have I committed now? Is he missing?"
"Apparently. I was just talking with his boss, a Colonel Stark, who thinks you're no lady."
She laughed. "How ungenerous of the Colonel. But am I then to be held responsible for every person dead and missing in the city of London tonight?… They made that turn. They are still behind us. Two blocks behind now. Drive a little faster. Did Colonel Stark accuse me of having made away with his aristocratic operative?"
"He kind of accused both of us. Anyway, he ordered us to report to his office for questioning, immediately."
She glanced at me. "You do not seem to be rushing in that direction, darling. Not unless they have changed their place of business since I was last informed."
"I take my orders from elsewhere," I said. "I don't suppose you're eager to have a chat with the guy, either."
"Well, not exactly. What makes him think we have harmed poor Sir Leslie?"
"Les is several hours overdue. And he was last seen with us, leaving Claridge's. However, you and I both know he was okay an hour later when he dropped me off. And according to Stark, Les did not take you back to the hotel; at least neither you nor the car were seen there again. And it's not a car anybody's likely to overlook. Rolls-Royces aren't that common, even in London."
Vadya said calmly, "I think you lost them on that turn… Naturally we were not seen to return to Claridge's. Was I to walk in the front door of that so snooty hotel, and through that so snooty lobby, wrapped in a too-big man's coat, with my hair hanging in my eyes and my stockings sagging around my ankles? I had Sir Leslie let me out half a block away, and I slipped into the building by… well, never mind. I may want to use that entrance again some time." She closed her purse. "Yes, they missed us. They just went straight on by the intersection back there. Make a right turn ahead, and then perhaps a left, and I do not think we will see them again. Where would I have got this dress, if I had not been back to my room? Tell Stark to look in 443 and he will find your coat on the bed."
"Sure," I said. "Now break out a map of London, there's one on that shelf under the dash, and tell me how to hit the main highway north."
I heard paper rustle as I drove. Her voice came again:
"You said the man we just left dead in that room was following the Rolls-Royce when you saw him earlier. Perhaps this man helped to trap Sir Leslie after I left him."
"Or before you left him," I said.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
I said, "You were in the back seat, and I'd given you back your little gun, remember? Perhaps you held up Les, and turned him over to the driver of the Austin and his unidentified pal, after which your now-dead friend drove you back to the hotel so you could change, while he went on to poison Nancy Glenmore for you. And then you killed him so he couldn't betray you to me."
She laughed easily. "Yes, I am a terrible person, darling. Will you kill me now for my crimes, or will you wait until we reach Scotland? And in the meantime can you tell me the name of this park on our right?… Ah, there is a sign. Now I see where we are. Just keep straight on until you come to a great boulevard, and turn right." She glanced at me. "Well, Matthew? Do I live or die?"
I grinned. "I think that's a very interesting theory I just proposed. I'm quite proud of it. It might even be true. If I find it is, I'll let you know. Meanwhile, just get your hand away from that gun in your brassiere, please, and let me concentrate on my driving."
She laughed again. I felt her relax beside me. After a little, she glanced over her shoulder and said in a different tone, "For a pair of foreigners in a very small car, we certainly made it look easy to lose three local operatives in a fast and powerful automobile, did we not? One might almost think we were supposed to lose them."
"You don't miss anything, do you?" I said. "I think Colonel Stark is being very clever. I don't think he expected us to call him at all; certainly he didn't expect us to turn ourselves in just because we were asked. I think that when Les turned up missing after last being seen with us, Stark had my car located and a beeper planted in it-you know, one of those dinguses that send out a signal to an electronic receiver. Les said his boss was fond of fancy equipment. The Jag was just for show. We were supposed to see it, and lose it, and think ourselves in the clear. Now Stark and his boys can settle down to track us on their radar screens at a safe distance."
"And what do you suggest we do about it?"
"Do?" I said. "Don't be silly. We do nothing. As long as Stark thinks we're leading him in a profitable direction, he'll make sure we have a clear track. We won't have to worry about being picked up by the police, whether for murder or speeding. Sorry we couldn't stop for your things, but I'll buy you a toothbrush in the morning."
Eight hours later we were in Scotland.
chapter THIRTEEN
A driver who knows the country, in a fast, well-broken-in car, can probably make that run in six hours or less, since Britain, like most of Europe, imposes few speed limits on the open road. Missing an occasional turn in the dark, in a brand-new car that had to be babied, it took us a couple of hours longer, and morning twilight was well advanced as we roared through the rolling border country past the neighborhood of Hadrian's old wall, built to keep the savage northern tribes out of peaceful Roman Britain, and entered Scotland at Gretna Green, where people used to go to get married in a hurry, and maybe still do.
Nevertheless, by American standards, it seemed like getting from one country to another in a big hurry. I'd studied maps enough to know, theoretically, that Scotland isn't quite as far from London as Alaska, say, is from New York, but I hadn't quite realized, practically, that you could run clear out of England in a single night's drive. On the other hand, neither had I realized that while it's only about three hundred miles from London to the Scottish border, it's another tough three hundred to the part of the northwestern Highlands in which we were interested.